


Untitled

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:38:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Neal shifted slightly so he could turn his head enough to see the woman Cody was talking about. He was surprised by what he saw; she was gorgeous, to put it mildly, dressed in a tight, pale green dress that had to be a McQueen. Last year's, maybe, but who cared about that with the way it showed off her miles of legs.</i>
</p><p>AKA The one where Neal got burnt out on being a con, and tried his hand at being a high-class escort instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> A few references through the second season, but is an AU of canon, so no real spoilers that I'm aware of.
> 
> (Edited to indicate this is a complete work. I had considered continuing this AU, but that's not going to happen. Stands alone as the initial meeting between Peter and Neal in a different universe.)

Neal flicked the tip of his index finger upwards, a not-so-stealthy signal that had Cody nodding and reaching for the gin. Neal watched as he tipped a tiny splash into the tonic, and then smiled his thanks as Cody passed it across the smooth mahogany.

He took a sip, more for something to do rather than any real thirst, and then turned to put his back against the bar. Prospects were looking sparse tonight. Neal couldn't put a finger on a specific reason for it; the weather was pretty much the same as yesterday, and ditto for Wall Street's fortunes. No new shows opening or old ones closing, on or off Broadway. Maybe there was some big sports thing drawing people away, but when it came down to his gut feeling, he thought it was mostly the natural ebb and flow of the city. The place wasn't so empty that he wouldn't be able to find a mark, but the subdued atmosphere meant he'd have to work harder to set the hook.

Neal sighed. Once upon a time, the thought of having to push just a little harder, having to come up with a slightly more compelling story, would have gotten his blood pumping. Now, though, it just made him tired. The whole shtick bored him more often than not, which meant it was more than time to move on. Find something new. Maybe head back to Europe, try his hand at something elite and dangerous, like Formula One. Or maybe he could try his hand at yachting. He wasn't positive that he wouldn't get seasick, but he was pretty sure getting into position to find out would be interesting.

He glanced over his shoulder. Cody, of course, was still there, lazily rubbing the spots off of a tray of glasses. Now that the idea was in his head, it was all Neal could do to not walk out the door right now. But he'd gotten lazy in the last year, let his escape routes get rusty and jagged. If he didn't come up with at least five thou before he headed out of here tonight, Barrow would be breathing down his neck before Neal could make it back to his loft.

And Barrow liked guns.

Neal drained his drink, wishing there was just a bit more alcohol in it, and turned to set the glass on the bar. Instead of finding Cody's eyes, though, he wound up staring into a pretty face he hadn't seen in months.

"Alex," he said, and then mentally kicked himself. That was more than sloppy. That was just plain stupid.

"Neal," she said, drawing out his name so anyone nearby could hear it clearly. And yeah, he used his own first name as often as not, but she couldn't know for sure that was what he was going by tonight. It was a nicely subtle rebuke, its elegance marred only by the pointed arch of her eyebrow.

He put on his best aw-shucks smile and slipped onto the stool beside her. "Buy you a drink?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I can take care of myself." She ordered a martini, which was her cocktail of choice when she wasn't planning to do much drinking. Cody shot him a look as he turned to reach for a glass, and Neal shook his head. Barrow most definitely did not need to know about Alex.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?" he asked.

Alex shrugged. "Would you believe me if I said I was just passing through?"

Neal snorted. "We're playing 'and the first two don't count', right?"

"Hmmm." Alex sipped at her martini, her tongue flicking out afterwards to catch the droplet clinging to her lips. "Maybe I'm here for a job."

Neal frowned. "My kind of job? I thought you didn't go for that kind of thing."

"I don't." Alex grimaced. "And I wouldn't be stupid enough to get involved with Barrow if I ever stooped to turning tricks."

"So judgmental," Neal murmured, even though he was glad to hear her say it. What Alex did was dangerous enough as it was; she didn't need to dip her toes into this particular pool. "So why are you here?"

"I missed you," she said, gaze flicking down and back up, almost shyly.

Neal rolled his eyes. "That's three and you're out. Lucky I'm feeling generous tonight. Wanna try again?"

"Fine," she said, dropping the kitten act completely. "I missed your skills, okay? Business has been slow lately."

"I find that hard to believe." He picked up the new gin-and-tonic Cody had set in front of him. "Nobody's in the market for that Raphael that walked out of the Washington Gallery a couple of weeks ago?"

Alex fluttered her eyelashes. "I wouldn't know."

Neal sighed. Before he could decide whether to attack or retreat in this little verbal match, Alex laid her first two fingers gently against his wrist. "I'm worried, okay? I don't understand what you're doing here. At first I thought it was some crazy reaction to Kate running off, but..." She shook her head. "Can you honestly tell me you're happy with what you're doing?"

He swallowed the betraying lump of emotion her concern stirred up, then rinsed the taste clear with a swallow of gin. "That's incredibly earnest of you."

"I know. I kind of hate myself right now." Alex sighed. "But it's the truth. I don't like seeing you waste your talent. Think of all the fun we could be having right now."

"Tempting," he said, and it was. Alex could get him out of here without the problems he'd have if he tried on his own. They always made a great team--until the way their personalities grated together got to be too much, and they had to split up or kill each other. They'd have a good six months of fun before that happened, though. Lots of time to travel the world, fleece it of its prettier possessions.

Alex held his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head. "You're going to say no."

"I don't know what it is, I swear." It bothered him a little, being this honest, but he trusted Alex. To an extent, anyway. "I just... It doesn't have the same pull for me anymore. I need something new."

"Fine." She drained the last of her martini, and then dismounted from the bar stool with an elegant hop. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Neal. But if you don't, don't forget I gave you a chance."

He caught her by the upper arm before she could flounce away. There was something off about her tonight, but he couldn't put his finger on what. "Are you in trouble, Alex? Because you know I'll help if I can."

She flashed him a smile. "Like I said, I can take care of myself." She tugged her arm away from his grip, and then turned and sashayed away.

Neal shook his head. When he turned back to his drink, Cody was watching him.

"Ex?" he asked.

"Something like that," Neal muttered into his drink. "Don't worry about her."

Cody nodded, though Barrow would probably get a report later, anyway. "Evening's wearing on," he said.

Neal frowned. "Yeah, I know. It's not like I'm slacking on purpose."

Cody lifted his chin, indicating someone behind and beyond Neal's left shoulder. "There's a woman over there who's been eyeing you up since before your ex-whatever left."

Neal shifted slightly so he could turn his head enough to see the woman Cody was talking about. He was surprised by what he saw; she was gorgeous, to put it mildly, dressed in a tight, pale green dress that had to be a McQueen. Last year's, maybe, but who cared about that with the way it showed off her miles of legs.

"Not exactly the usual," Neal said softly, shaking his head. Not that women who looked like that never paid for it; he'd been around enough to know that there was a niche, there, too. But women who could afford to pay what he charged usually booked through a service.

"Thought you liked a challenge," Cody said. The woman noticed Neal looking, then. She didn't look away, not like a shy admirer would. Her gaze was direct and interested, and Neal was intrigued.

"You know what she's drinking?" he asked, not looking away from her.

"Same as you," Cody said. Cold glass pressed against the back of his hand. Neal turned around to pick it up, nodded at Cody, and headed over.

"I took the liberty of ordering you another," Neal said as he slipped into the seat next to her. "I hope that wasn't too forward."

She smiled. "I like forward," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Diana."

"Neal." Her grip was firm, but not so much that it was awkward, and she drew her hand back as slowly as Neal did. He sat forward, letting his knee brush against hers as he did so. "Let me be forward, then, Diana. I don't understand how such a beautiful woman can be sitting here all alone."

She tapped her finger--the nail manicured, but short, which fit with her no-nonsense style--against his chest, right below the knot of his tie. "Mmm, but I'm not alone."

Neal grinned. "Lucky me."

"Possibly." She pressed the outside of her thigh against his for a mere second, then sat back in her chair. She looked cool and completely unaffected as she sipped at her drink, and for all that her words and actions seemed to be promising a very specific end to the evening, Neal was pretty sure it wasn't guaranteed.

He was already having the most fun he'd had in a very long time.

"How can I make that a probably?" he asked.

She shrugged one shoulder, drawing his attention there. She had a small tattoo, a chain of squares in simple black ink. Probably something leftover from college days, but it spoke to a wild side somewhere under that cool surface. "I came here because I'm looking for something very specific," she said. "And I heard that this is the place to get it."

So his initial assumption had been wrong. It took a little of the thrill out of it, knowing that she was already on the hook, but then again, it meant he wouldn't have to turn her down in order to search out a paying john. "What are you looking for?"

"I told you before. I'm not alone." This time she nodded towards the outer lounge, where patrons gathered in clusters to drink and flirt. Neal followed her line of sight to an armchair tucked into the corner. A man was sitting rigidly in it, bottled beer clutched in one fist as he watched them. White, square-jawed, and with a face that was more interesting than handsome, not old but older than Diana. His suit spoke of money but not style, like a man who'd climbed the ladder of success rather than being plunked down on top of the pedestal.

Neal looked back at Diana. The guy wouldn't be a hardship to take upstairs, but Neal couldn't quite put him and her together in his head. "Big bank account?" he asked.

She smiled slowly. "Big everything."

"That's the kind of thing I like to hear." Neal looked back to the guy. He seemed nervous, a definite first-timer, but there was something in the way he was returning their regard that spoke of confidence. He and Diana were a matched set in that way. "So what, he likes to watch?"

He turned back in time to see Diana shake her head. "No. I do."

"Just watch?" he asked, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

"It'll be worth your while," she promised.

"I'm sure it will be," Neal said. He stood up and offered his hand. "But we can discuss those details upstairs."

Diana rested her fingers in his, though she hardly put any pressure on his hand as she rose, all smooth, muscular grace on three-inch heels. Neal shook his head with regret. The night was young, though, and perhaps she'd change her mind once things got going.

"So, shall we go meet your..."

"Peter," Diana supplied. "His name is Peter."

"Of course it is," Neal murmured, then smiled innocently when she cocked an eyebrow at him. "He looks like a Peter."

Peter was standing before they were halfway there, nervously wiping his hand across the leg of his pants before holding it out to Neal. "Hi," he said, and his voice was a smooth, mellow baritone that suited his face.

"Sweetheart, this is Neal." Diana slipped away from Neal and settled in next to Peter, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. "I think he's the perfect choice to keep us company this evening. How about you?"

Peter's gaze never left Neal. Up close, his eyes were intense. Measuring and full of intelligence. A slow burn started in Neal's belly, and for the first time, he thought that it might not matter if Diana took part or not.

"Oh, I think Neal will do just fine," Peter said, and then the smallest of smiles touched his lips, almost like he was sharing a secret. The smile slipped away quickly, right before he glanced over at Diana. "So, uh, what do we do now?"

"Relax, for one thing," Neal said, smiling reassuringly. The confidence he could see underneath made Peter's outward nervousness even more appealing. He pressed the tips of his fingers against the back of Peter's right arm, gently urging him to turn towards the lobby. "Right now, we go upstairs and have a little talk."

"Talk. Right." Peter flashed a smile that actually showed teeth this time. "I can do that."

Neal led them to the elevators, and watched quietly as they rode the car up. Peter kept stealing glances at him, while Diana seemed lost in thought. They didn't touch much, not more than her hand on his shoulder, and Neal wondered whether that was part of the fantasy they were acting out, or if it went deeper than that. It shouldn't matter to him one way or the other, but his curiosity wouldn't leave him alone. It was a trait that had gotten him into more than one scrape in a lifetime, but it had also led him to his most amazing discoveries.

He let them into the suite without a word, still watching. Diana didn't look around twice before she headed to the loveseat by the window, but Peter paused just over the threshold, standing like he might decide to turn around and bolt at any second. Neal stepped in close behind him, not touching yet, just letting Peter feel the warmth of his body. It didn't take long for Peter's shoulders to relaxed. He swayed backwards the slightest amount, just enough for their bodies to brush together, back to chest.

"Let me get you a drink." Neal squeezed the back of Peter's neck, then stepped around him and headed to the bar. "Beer, right?"

"Nothing too fancy." Peter sat down beside Diana, but stayed there only a couple of seconds before he stood back up again. "You want anything, sweetie?"

"San Pelligrino, if you've got it," she said, directly to Neal. "Or Perrier with lime."

Peter turned to him with wide eyes, and Neal couldn't hold back a chuckle. "I've got both, actually." He chose the San Pelligrino, pouring it into a highball, but only uncapped the Stella Atois he pulled out for Peter. Peter accepted the beer without comment, though he did give the label a suspicious eyebrow before taking a sip.

"I think it's about time we get to the talking," Diana said. She had one arm slung casually along the back of the loveseat, the other in her lap, cradling her drink. She radiated command, and Neal had a feeling she wouldn't be doing so much watching as calling the shots later on. The thought definitely had appeal, but he found himself wishing he'd be able to take his time with Peter, do things his own way.

He didn't get paid to fulfill his own desires, though. And Diana was right--it was more than time to get the difficult portion of tonight's business out of the way. "The room will run you ten thousand," he said. "Cash, preferably, but if you're okay with itemizing it on your expenses, we can make other arrangements."

"Ten grand?" Peter asked. He was red in the face, like he'd swallowed his beer wrong. "That's a lot of money."

Neal shrugged. "The amenities are worth it."

"And well within the range we budgeted," Diana said. "Right, sweetheart?"

Peter grimaced, but then he sighed and nodded. "You're right. Of course you are."

She set her drink down and stood up, moving always with that slow, almost lethal grace. "If you'll excuse me, I just need to make a quick call to finalize the arrangements."

"You can use the bedroom," Neal said, even though the choice was obvious. It was the little touches, after all. He opened the door for her, and then shut it behind her.

Peter cleared his throat. "So. How about those Yankees?"

"The Yankees. They're a baseball team, right?" Peter's face fell; apparently that had been more than idle chit-chat. Neal forced out a chuckle. "Kidding," he said. "I'm kidding."

Peter snorted. "Good one. You got me."

Neal cocked his head to the side. "I get the impression that doesn't happen that often."

Peter smiled slowly, and wow, the way his eyes went hot and amused sent the temperature in the whole room up a notch. "You'd be right," he said, back to confident again.

"Why don't we sit down?"

Peter's gaze flicked to the closed bedroom door. Then he set his beer down on the bar and crossed the room to the couch, sitting down with the determination of a man about to face a dentist for the first time in five years. Neal eased down beside him, and after a moment of indecision, laid his hand between Peter's shoulder blades. His touch had seemed to calm Peter earlier, and it worked this time, as well.

"Look," he said, already regretting his words but needing to say them anyway. "It's not really any of my business, and my boss would kill me if he knew I said this, but do you really want to be here?"

Peter's eyes narrowed a little at the word _kill_. Neal worried that maybe he'd slipped up somehow, let something through in his voice that had given him away, but it could be the guy was just one of those paranoid types who always bought into the worst-case scenario. Peter didn't comment on it, though. Just asked, "What makes you think I don't want to be here?"

Neal shrugged. "You seem a little nervous. And that's fine, but..." He hesitated. What he was about to say was asking for the guy to punch him in the mouth. "Your...Diana seems to be more invested in this than you are, and I'm not really into the unwilling party thing."

There was that slow, knowing smile again. "Diana can be a little...forceful when she's got her sights set on something," Peter said. "But believe me. There's no place I'd rather be right now."

"Good. That's good." It was crazy, how glad he was to actually hear the conviction in Peter's voice, the way it made something hot curl under his breastbone. Neal was a professional at this, even if it was only a passing occupation, and he didn't get swept up by the desire in a client's eyes or short of breath from his own slow, negotiated seduction. Enjoyed himself, sure, but never to the point where he didn't care about the cash or the other details. Maybe it was his realization earlier that he was through with this phase of his life, or Alex's timely prodding, but right now he only had one thing on his to-do list.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he said. There was a flash of something--anxiety, probably--in Peter's eyes, but then he was in too close to see anything. Peter froze at first, lips unresponsive and his whole body rigid--but then he gave into the kiss like a drowning man finding air. He opened his mouth, letting Neal in, and Neal didn't back away from the invitation. Peter pulled him in closer. Neal brought his hands up, sweeping them over the firm muscles of Peter's chest, before reaching for the button under his tie.

Diana cleared her throat. Peter jerked away so fast Neal had to catch himself with a hand on the back of the loveseat to keep from tumbling into him.  
"I didn't think I needed to tell you not start without me," she said. Neal turned his head to find her staring down at them with a sharp eyebrow, her displeasure effortlessly taking in both of them.

Peter wasn't saying anything, and really, it was Neal's fault, anyway. "Sorry," he said, playing up a sheepish smile. "I got a little ahead of myself. Everything all worked out?"

She shrugged. "On my end. I need you to give me some details--" She was cut off by the ringing of her phone. She frowned down at it, then looked directly at Peter. "Sorry. I have to take this. Don't do anything until I get back."

As soon as the door shut behind her again, Neal turned to face Peter. He was flushed a rose-petal pink, and his shirt was askew at the neck and wrinkled over the chest, clear evidence of Neal's grabbiness. "Hey," Neal said softly. "Did I just get you into trouble?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah. It's not like that. Diana's just looking out for me." He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "She knows how awkward this is for me."

Neal couldn't resist touching him again. He kept it friendly, just cupping Peter's shoulder like Diana had earlier, but it still sent a thrill through him. "What's awkward? The sex?"

Peter shrugged. "That's part of it. I just...I hate not knowing how this works. With the room and you and--" He shrugged again, adorably flustered. "I don't even know what questions to ask."

"Don't worry about it," Neal said. He wanted to kiss Peter again, but even if Diana was only being protective, Neal knew better than to push the situation. "As soon as Diana comes back, I'll have her contact my boss about transferring the money, and then I'll do whatever you want. However you want it."

"Even if what I want is to fuck you?"

Neal swallowed hard. "Especially that."

Peter sighed. Something about his whole posture changed, though it didn't seem like he'd moved a muscle. "What?" Neal asked, but then Diana was striding back into the room.

"That was Clinton," she said, past cool and collected and on into brisk. "He said the cat slipped out of the house."

"Damn it," Peter muttered. "I was afraid that was going to happen."

"They're looking, but he's pretty sure they're not going to find her." Diana perched her hands on her hips. "All the toys are right where they're supposed to be, though."

Neal blinked. Either Diana and Peter were some very strange pet owners, or they'd just started talking in code right in front of him. He tried to edge away from Peter without drawing attention to himself, but Peter seemed wholly intent on Diana.

"We'll take what we can get," Peter said, rubbing at his mouth. "I've always been more interested in the big dogs, anyway."

Diana nodded. "We good to go?"

"Yeah," Peter said, and Neal got a very, very bad feeling in his gut. One that amped up about a thousand percent when Peter circled his wrist with a strong grip. "You really shouldn't have said what you did," he said softly, almost whispering. His eyes were sad, and that only made the hammering in Neal's chest harder to ignore. "Neal Caffrey, you're under arrest for solicitation of a federal agent, and for the possession of stolen goods."

"Federal agent?" Neal asked. He felt shell-shocked, like all of his senses were muzzled. Blood was roaring in his ears now, drowning out the rest of the words coming out of Peter's lips. The badge held up in front of his eyes made only slightly more sense, the letters _FBI_ stenciled large and ugly across the top.

"We want to take you out of here quietly," Diana said. It was easier to focus on her, for some reason. Or maybe it wasn't; she had a gun, although it wasn't aimed at him, and he had no idea where it had come from. "Will you do that for us? Act like nothing's wrong? Because we can have the whole force of the NYPD here as your entourage if you don't cooperate."

Neal nodded. Everything after that happened in a jerky fast-slow feeling, as if his brain were a skipping DVD. He couldn't stop looking at Peter, though. If that was his real name. It was strange, how everything between them in the past few minutes had been a lie, and yet Neal couldn't shake the feeling of connection.

He only managed to catch Peter's gaze once, right before they got him into their car. Their eyes met across the top of the car door, and where Neal had been expecting to see triumph, there was only sadness. Sadness and shame. Then Peter looked away, Diana urged him down and in, and they were off.

To the FBI.

*****

It was sometime around seven a.m. when two agents in suits collected Neal from the holding cell they'd kept him in all night. They were wearing their security badges on their lapels--one was named Jones, but Neal didn't get a good look at the other--which would make a grab riskier to make, though far from impossible. He was still weighing whether it was best to go for broke now or wait for a better opportunity when they cuffed his hands behind his back.

"Oh, come on," he protested, nearly worthy of Mozzie in his level of offense. "What, you're afraid I'm going to escape and blow somebody?"

Jones just smiled. He grabbed Neal by the upper arm, his grip firm but not cruel, and marched him out of the cell. They left him uncuffed in a room that was straight out of every cop classic he'd ever seen--a heavy rectangular table, straight-backed (and very uncomfortable) chairs, and a mirror that took up half the wall he was facing.

Neal winked at it, showily, and then settled deep into his chair, hands behind his head.

He thought they'd leave him there to stew for quite a while, soften him up for whatever interrogation technique they intended to ply him with. He'd had plenty of time last night to think about how masterfully he'd been played. Classic good cop-bad cop, and he hadn't even seen it coming. Peter--or whatever his name was--had been the perfect combination of shy and charming to get Neal to drop his guard. It irritated the hell out of him.

Almost as much as it intrigued him.

Not five minutes after Jones left him, however, the door opened again. Peter came striding into the room, a single brown folder in his hand, Diana behind him with a stack. Neal wasn't completely surprised to see the difference in their demeanor--they'd been undercover, after all--but it was still discomfiting. Diana was wearing a pants suit now, and her carriage was completely professional, not an ounce of slink to be seen anywhere. Neal thought maybe she was hotter this way, but that was a race too close to call from where he was currently sitting.

Peter was the one who was the most different, though. Last night, he'd been visibly uncomfortable with situation; it had shown in the way he'd been tucked into himself, muscles tight like he was readying himself to run or defend himself physically. Now, though, he moved with grace and authority, so much so that it barely left room at the table for Neal and Diana. He'd shucked the suit jacket that he'd worn so badly last night, though the shirt and tie were the same. Neal's gaze lingered on the neat knot of the tie; he could distinctly remember the silk twisted between his fingers last night, leaving it in disarray.

When he looked up, Peter was watching him.

"Caffrey," he said, flipping open the folder. Neal could make out a single glossy of himself holding a high-ball, seated at the bar in front of Cody. Nothing particularly incriminating, so he looked back up at Peter and raised his eyebrow. Peter's lips twitched. "I wouldn't get too comfortable yet. We've barely started our conversation."

Neal folded his hands on top of the table. "I wouldn't dream of it. You haven't even introduced yourselves, after all."

That got the slightest bit of an eyeroll. "Special Agent Peter Burke," he said, then waved to Diana on his right. "And my probie, Agent Diana Barrigan."

So they had kept things simple, used their own first names. Neal absorbed that fact without comment, but there was one thing he couldn't let go. "Probie?"

"Probationary agent," Burke said, and he sounded less than amused. Probably had lived with his share of off-color jokes when he was a _probie_. "Now, does that satisfy your need for good manners, or would you like to continue? Share a few aliases with us, perhaps? Don't bother starting with Nick Halden. We've had that one nailed down for ages."

Neal very carefully kept his smile in place, though he was hit with the feeling he'd been treading deep water for the last twelve hours, rather than the slightly turbulent waves near the beach he'd assumed. "I'm good. I wouldn't want to take up too much of your time, after all."

There was that smile again, that one that had snuck out when Neal had teased Burke last night. It shouldn't light Neal up the same way, not when Burke had him by the balls in a very different way than he wanted, but Neal had always been stupid when it came to things that caught his eye.

"I thought so," Burke said. He held Neal's gaze, almost like he was daring Neal to keep his secrets to himself. It was odd, and not the approach he'd been expecting at all. Neal had spent some time last night considering using his phone call, maybe asking for a lawyer. Mozzie was completely out--there was no way he'd accept a call out of the blue from the FBI, even if Neal knew how to reach him--and there was nobody else that he both trusted and felt comfortable bringing to the attention of the Feds. That left a public defender, which, _no_.

He might have to reconsider that decision shortly, if Burke was as anywhere as good as the vibe he was giving off.

"I know you're a smart guy, Caffrey," Burke continued, shrugging with his mouth as much as his shoulders. "I'm not going to yell at you or brow-beat you or whatever's going on in that scenario inside your head."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "Guess I can't be too smart, if I'm sitting here."

Burke snorted. "There is that. 'Course, it could be that I'm just that much smarter than you."

"Could be," Neal murmured, wanting to see how far Burke would run with that. Instead of braggadocio, though, he got that enigmatic smile again.

"So, since we're all very smart, here," Burke said, nodding his head in a way that made it clear he included Diana in that 'all', "why don't we cut to the chase." He flipped the photo over; underneath was a shot of Neal, Diana, and Peter in the lounge. "We've got you on tape soliciting a federal agent."

 _Soliciting **you**_ , Neal was tempted to say, but he held it back. There was a different game going on here, one he didn't know the rules for, or the object. "Are you looking for a confession? Because that seems a little redundant."

"It does, doesn't it?" Burke shook his head. "No, no. I'm just explaining things. See, even though bringing you in for prostitution sounds all exciting and everything, it's just a misdemeanor. Tax evasion, however." Burke sat back, and this time his smile was downright evil. "Have you ever seen **The Untouchables**?"

Neal's pulse was thumping in his throat, so strongly he thought Burke could probably see it. He kept his outward calm with relative ease, though; his accounts might not withstand a thorough investigation, but there was no way the feds would be able to hold him for the time it'd take for them to pin him with something. "It's not on my tops list," he said. "Too violent."

"Yeah, there is that," Burke agreed easily. "But boy, you've gotta love a movie where an accountant saves the day."

"I just like the part where it's based on real life," Diana said.

"I'm not Al Capone," Neal snapped.

"I know that," Burke said calmly. It was a phrase that should have made Neal even more anxious, just the very thought that Burke really might know as much as he was implying. "The point is, tax evasion is a felony. A federal one, by the way. And I'm really curious about how much of that ten grand a night you were reporting to Uncle Sam."

Neal held his tongue.

"Anyway. As I was saying, you're a bright guy, so it probably won't be easy, getting to you through your books. You'll lawyer up, run the first chance you get." Burke slipped his thumb under the photograph of the three of them. He left it there, his mouth pressed tight as he stared at Neal. "Might not even be worth the man-hours spent trying to bring in somebody small time, like you."

"Is that so?" Neal asked softly. He could sense the hook. He just didn't know what bait was on it, yet, or whether he'd already swallowed it.

Burke nodded. "Lucky for us, we'll have plenty of time to look into your accounts. Since we've got you on grand theft." He flipped over the photo, revealing the one underneath, and Neal's world split down the seams. It was a shot of his loft, taken from right in front of his favorite leather couch. The composition was terrible: too boxy, the colors muted, and with no sense of perspective. The story came through crystal clear, however, the plot entirely centered around the painting hanging above Neal's hearth. _St. George and the Dragon_.

"Damn it, Alex," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah," Burke said, shuffling that picture aside so the one beneath it showed. The bar again, only this time Alex was beside Neal. "She's a real piece of work, isn't she? I actually got the impression that she thought she was doing you a favor. On top of saving her own ass, of course."

"I didn't take it," Neal said. "You can't prove that I did, and that's possession, not theft."

Burke shrugged. "I think you underestimate what I can do. Either way, _that_ is a stolen Raphael. It all shakes out to a felony in the end."

Neal slipped his hands under the table, knotting his fingers together as he tried to stay present. They'd still have to prove it was his, and that he knew it was stolen. It was a shaky thing, though, and it'd give them time to look further into his finances than he felt comfortable with. Neal concentrated on breathing slowly, in and out and natural. Burke wasn't finished with his game, not by a long shot, which meant either something really bad was coming--or there was a way out. "That was a really long-winded way of saying you've got a case against me."

"Be glad you didn't get me started on the Yankees last night." Burke gathered the photos together with one easy swipe of his hand, then closed the folder and passed it over to Diana. She passed him a second one in its place, but Burke didn't open it right away. The quiet rasp of his thumb against the edge of the thick paper filled the room during the long seconds that Burke simply stared at him. The weight of whatever he was contemplating seemed to thicken the air, binding them together, and it was all Neal could do to sit still and wait for Burke to come to a decision.

"Why haven't you asked for a lawyer, Neal?" he asked quietly.

 _That_ wasn't what he was expecting at all. It was completely out of bounds for an interrogation. Cops never wanted you to ask for a lawyer; they certainly didn't remind you of the right more than they had to. Burke had just pushed the power back onto Neal's side of the table. Purposefully, rather than because of a ham-fisted mistake, and Neal had no idea why.

The obvious response would be _because I'm not guilty_. Neal threw that out the window without even considering it; the solicitation charge wasn't even worth arguing about, and his say-so about the Raphael wasn't going to change Burke's mind one way or the other. Neal watched Burke's eyes, looking for some kind of tell. There was a tightness around the corners that spoke of exhaustion. It made sense, if Burke was still in the same suit from last night--but Neal thought there was more to it than that.

"You know what I think?" Neal asked, matching Burke's gentle tone. "I think you want to let me go."

Burke grinned, wide and delighted, yet his amusement didn't feel condescending. "Don't delude yourself. You did the crime, you do the time." He tapped the tip of his index finger against the folder. "But you do have options. That is, if you have the guts to do the right thing."

"Do the right thing?" Neal laughed, actually relieved by Burke's do-gooder reveal. He relaxed against the back of his chair, bringing his hands up to his chest, feeling like his feet were brushing firm sand for the first time since last night. "Does that actually work on people? Because, wow."

Burke just smiled. "Liked that one, did you? I've got another, if your ready to hear it."

Neal gestured expansively. "By all means."

"What if I told you that you could be the key to bringing down a very powerful, very dirty politician?"

Neal blinked. "I'd say, sorry, I already sent the blue dress to the cleaners."

"You're a real funny guy, aren't you?" Burke shook his head. "We're not aiming quite that high. Though in a few years, who knows."

Despite himself, Neal sat forward, intrigued. "You've got to be going after something more than soliciting."

"Oh, definitely. But we've got to start somewhere, just like we did with you." Peter--Burke, damn it--rapped his knuckles against the table. "Plus, if I do it right, I get to take down a prostitution ring or two, and that's just fun."

Neal shook his head. "And you probably liked going to the dentist when you were a kid, too, didn't you?"

"She had really awesome stickers," Burke said without missing a beat. "This is important, Caffrey. I thought you'd be able to see that."

"Why?" Burke's brow wrinkled at that. Neal waved him off before he could start in on some impassioned speech about America and apple pie. "No, I mean, why on Earth would you think that? I'm a hooker, Peter. That's it."

"That's it, huh?" Burke's eyes were challenging, but he looked away from Neal after only a couple of seconds, towards Diana. She stood without a word, gathering up the files before she left the room. Neal wondered exactly how much of this whole interview they'd scripted out, and how much was that they were just that in tune with each other.

When Neal turned back from watching Diana, Burke was slouched back in his chair, hands behind his head in a relaxed pose that mirrored Neal's earlier one almost exactly. He hadn't stretched out completely, though; Neal would have felt the brush of his legs against his own.

"Let me tell you a story."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "By all means."

Burke dropped his hands to his chest. "When I started with the FBI, you could say I was a go-getter. It wasn't just that I wanted to advance my career. I was determined to take down every last crook that I got in my sights, and then some."

"I can't say I'm exactly shocked by that revelation," Neal said mildly.

Burke snorted. "Just wait. I'm getting to the good part. See, once I got assigned to the white collar division, I got a reputation for cracking the tough cases. The ones that the more experienced agents had given up as lost causes. Which meant every rumor, every false lead, every suspicious receipt got sent my way."

"You don't make it sound like a bad thing."

"Oh, it wasn't, not at all. Had a tendency to get lost in the job, yeah, but there's nothing like the rush that comes from putting those little pieces together to make a case." Peter laughed softly, gaze focused inward. It was obvious that he really loved his work, got off on it in a way that Neal could relate to. The way he talked about it, it sounded just like planning out a job, working out ways around the 'impossibles' that made the take so much sweeter in the end.

God, Neal missed that part of it.

Peter drummed his fingers against his sternum. "About, oh, something like six years ago, I started hearing stuff about a con artist, small time mostly, who had a smile made of diamonds and was so smooth he could charm the pants off of Mother Theresa."

Neal wrinkled his nose.

Peter held up both hands. "Hey, it wasn't me that said it."

Neal nodded. But... "Small-time, huh?"

"Nothing on a federal level, anyway. Not that we heard of. But there was this other guy who popped up about the same time. Amazing forger. Did a van Dyck that fooled the Met for who knows how long, until somebody noticed the little nick in the frame had magically healed itself." Peter rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. "Whoever the thief was who switched the two, he did a hell of a job."

"Pretty amazing," Neal agreed easily. "Chasing all those guys must have kept you busy."

"Yeah, he would have. Would have been a hell of a chase, too, except about that time all my hard work paid off." Peter shook his head. "Got offered the head of Organized Crime."

"Nice."

Peter nodded. "More responsibility, bigger take-home, the chance to put away violent mob bosses? How could I say no to that?" He sat forward, every bit of relaxation dropping away with one quick flex of his muscles. "Biggest mistake of my life."

Neal cocked his head to the side. "Not any good at it?" he asked, even though already he couldn't imagine Peter being anything but amazing at whatever he tried.

"I was great. I hated it, though." Peter tapped his breast bone again. "Even before I got shot."

Neal sucked in a breath. He shouldn't care, not about something that was obviously over and done with and had turned out okay, not about someone who was very gently raising the temperature on the hot water around him. He'd never been able to turn off his compassion, though, and the thought of this powerful, brilliant man being on the wrong side of a bullet turned his stomach.

"I was out for six months, and the only reason I came back was they gave me my old job." Peter leaned even farther forward, resting his elbows on that oh-so-mysterious folder. "You know what the first thing I did was?"

"Chew out the bastard who offered you the promotion?"

Peter snorted. "I hadn't waited to do that. No, I went straight to the files, see what had happened to this guy who was so good everybody thought he was at least three different people. Wanted to see if anybody had put it all together yet, maybe even got ahead of him." He shook his head. "It didn't surprise me that nobody had. But the thing that got me was that he'd just disappeared. After a certain point, there was just nothing that could be linked back to the other crimes."

"Maybe he got better at what he did," Neal said mildly. "Got so good nobody ever noticed him."

"Nah. This guy, he liked the attention. Everything he did had a flair to it." Peter's eyes were practically twinkling. He was some kind of reverse Santa, all jolly at the thought of taking away the fun toys. "It would have gotten him caught, eventually. And that's why I had a hard time believing he'd just stop like that. Figured something had happened to him."

Neal swallowed. "You almost sound like you care."

Peter shrugged. "Never had any reason to wish anything bad on the guy."

"Except prison, you mean."

"Which would have been exactly what he deserved."

"Wow," Neal said, shaking his head. "I really had no idea they still made guys like you."

"We come in batches. Straight out of Quantico." Peter sighed. "Can I finish my story now?"

"Can you? I kinda got the impression it just went on forever."

"If I'm boring you, there's a cell downtown with your name on it."

Neal held up his hands. "Kidding, kidding! Really. My sense of humor is my worst trait."

"I doubt that," Peter said dryly. "But I'll get to the point, since you're in such a hurry. This guy, this brilliant kid, he was nowhere to be found. Until six months ago, that is, when he turned up with an escort service right in the middle of Manhattan. I didn't understand it all. I mean, it had to be some kind of scam, right?"

Neal was shaking his head before he could stop himself.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Peter flipped open the front of the secret file. "The way I see it, you have three options. First up is the easy one. You don't do anything but hire a lawyer, I dig up all my old case files, and we'll roll the dice on how many years it is before you get a view of the great outdoors that isn't topped with razor wire."

Neal swallowed. "That's the easy option, huh?"

"Yep." Peter held up the top sheet of paper. "Number two's a bit harder. You roll over on your boss and all his associates, and we get you into Witness Protection."

And spend the rest of his life waiting tables in the middle of Nebraska, always looking over his shoulder waiting for one of Barrow's goons to off him. Yeah, that was a winner. "I can't wait to hear about what's behind door number three."

"It's a goodie," Peter said, grinning. He turned the first piece of paper face down. There was a whole stack of paper remaining, almost as thick as Peter's thumb. "Remember when I said you were the key to bringing down a dirty politician? That's number three. I let you walk out of here, easy peasy. But here's the hard part. When I need to know something, you find it out for me. When I need you to do something, you do it."

"You want me to be your informant." It should have turned his guts to ice. Narcing to the feds was a surefire way to end up in the Hudson without a ferry. If Mozzie were here, he'd be screeching at Neal to get the hell out the quickest way possible. Skip the country and lay low in Panama for a while.

"I want you to do something good with all that talent you have," Peter said. "Something important."

As spit-and-polished as Peter was, 'something important' could mean helping a little old lady across the street. Neal narrowed his eyes. "Who are you after?"

Peter shook his head. "Nope. You don't get to know that until after you sign the dotted lines. Maybe not then. We start small, you show me that I can trust you first."

Neal snorted. "You think I'm not going to run the instant you let me go?"

"Oh, you might. I figure it depends on which way I spooked you." Peter shrugged. "But know this. If you run, I will catch you. And when I do? You'll go away for a very, very long time."

God, Peter was so sure of himself. That kind of confidence was incredibly arousing, and combined with the sheer dare in his words, it made Neal have to curl his fingers into fists so he didn't reach across and grab the pen right out of Peter's lapel pocket. Oh, the games they could play, with Neal on the run and Peter chasing him.

It'd be amazing--until he got tired of it, just like he had with the escort gig, and with the stint teaching at the Sorbonne, and those weeks on the floor of the Stock Exchange.

"I do this, and you drop the charges," Neal said slowly.

Peter nodded. "There are conditions, and contingents. All right here," he said, patting the stack of papers. "We'll go through all of it with you."

Neal stared at the forms. He knew what he was going to say, but he couldn't quite get his mouth to form the words. The screech of chair legs across the floor jerked his head up, just in time to see Peter stand.

"Take a few minutes to think about it. The AUSA will be here in half an hour. We'll need to know by then." Peter gathered up the papers, tapping the edge of the stack against the table until they fell into line. He paused with one palm flat against the table, his jaw working with some heavy thought.

"I don't know if it'll influence your decision one way or the other, but it's something you should know," he said at last, voice pitched low. Not a whisper for secrecy's sake, considering this whole conversation was surely being taped, but like he couldn't help being circumspect. "This deal is one hundred percent above the board. What happened last night was a one time thing."

"You sure about that?" Neal asked, his own voice deepening to his sultry best. It was a reflex, driven both by the need to regain power and his own very real desire. For a moment Neal was sure it had worked, Peter's eyes going dark and his cheeks heating, but then he shook his head and straightened away from the table.

"Yeah, I am," he said. "I'm married. Happily."

Neal blinked. "She know you swing for the other team?"

Peter grinned. "She knows more about me than I know about myself." He tapped the folder against the edge of the table one more time, saluted Neal with it, and then left the room without a backwards glance.


End file.
